


Closer, Still

by thereisalwaysroom



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Against a Wall, Cheeky boys, Closet Sex, Elio can't keep his hands to himself, Elio's POV, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hiding, Hot Weather, It's too darn hot, Lust with a side of Sass, M/M, Oliver's sensitive nips, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Humor, Sneaking Around, switching tops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-06 23:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15206312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereisalwaysroom/pseuds/thereisalwaysroom
Summary: "Abbastanza,” I rasped. “Want younow.”





	Closer, Still

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted by @robazizo and another anon in my inbox over on tumblr, who asked for "a kiss to shut them up," as well as Oliver and Elio sneaking around and almost getting caught. This got so naughty so fast, I was a little shocked, myself.
> 
> This story would not be what it was without the lovely @provenance over on tumblr. I adore thee, my dear, for your encouragement, your editing skills, your wise words, and the ability to scream in all caps to each other for days on end. You get me. ;)

In the end, it was my own fault. Faced with an empty house, my parents out to lunch with my father’s colleague, and Mafalda out in town on errands, I assumed we’d hear anyone a mile away. The sun made me bold, and rendered Oliver’s desire supple and susceptible. It’s how we ended up in the parlor, kissing wildly, hands in places we’d never dare explore out in the open. Oliver had picked up a little bottle of lubricant at the pharmacy our second day together, and now seemed set about proving that he wasn’t above surprising me with it in random places if we were alone.

He had me thrown across the sofa with his lips on my neck, his three fingers stretching me until my hunger for him inside swelled to a fever. I gripped the back of the couch, my cock so hard it was peeking out of the waistband of my shorts. I cast a glance over his blue-clad back, muscles rolling with his movements as he worked me open. I reached down and raked my nails over the dark fabric, and he smeared his cheek over mine to kiss me, all tongue and teeth and two-day stubble. 

Flushed from cheeks to chest, I reached down to grip the hot bulge that was tenting his green suit, ready and wanting to soak him in like the sun pouring sultry through the windows, deafened by our mingled drags for air - and his head shot up, blue eyes wide.

Footsteps.

_Cazzo_.

***

It’s how we found ourselves in the blackness of the hallway closet, smothered by Mafalda’s linens and at least four of my parents winter coats. Sweltering didn’t even begin to cover it, especially as it was only _just_ big enough for both of us. Oliver could have spread his arms and touched both walls. We were both dripping already from the heat of the day and the few reckless, stolen minutes on the sofa. I scrambled in the dark as he closed the door, looking for the chain for the naked bulb on the ceiling, finding it and tugging just as Oliver stepped on my foot.

I yelped, stumbled back and all but fell into the flurry of coats behind me, the wool hot and heinously scratchy against my back. I swore as I toppled, and Oliver seized me, pulled me from the fray, lips crashing into mine to shut me up without so much as an ounce of grace. His teeth smashed against my upper lip and I winced, yanking away from him as I ran my tongue over the place that stung, sharp and coppery. “Ow.” 

“Shhh, shh, shh,” he breathed, looking back to the door, leaning in a few inches to listen at the crack for passers-by. His shoulders were inching up towards his ears, the carefree lust from seconds ago shucked like a snakeskin. I scowled and skimmed my fingertips over his waist, nibbling at the swath of sun-gold skin on the back of his arm. He looked back at me, an eyebrow quirked. I licked over the little white indent my teeth had left, nuzzled up the crease of his arm, dared to trace a line up to the root beneath hem of his blue sleeve, where the essence of him was most pungent.  

He lifted his arm then and curled it round my shoulders, covering my mouth with his own and turning in the narrow space, tonguing over the sore spot where his teeth had marked, tasting for blood. Whether or not he found any was lost in my incendiary need to melt in his arms and pour the entirety of me down his throat. I slid my hands down his hips and pulled him to me as I had that morning; the emptiness inside me was stark and tangible as those moments seconds ago, when I’d been so full and and flushed with need. 

Oliver swiveled his hips a lazy figure-eight, rocking me back against the wall barely a foot behind my heels, the delicious swell of his cock brushing against mine; the anxiety of being caught had done nothing to temper his heat. I should have known, it had only reinvigorated mine. The closet smelled thickly of dust and mothballs. I could taste it, like a far too-strong cologne, and thus opened my mouth to invite him in, to fill the void with his own earthy, ten-tone notes. 

My hand found the way to the front of his suit, and I broke our kiss, the two of us looking down as I delved inside, stroking hard, thick flesh that throbbed to the touch. I could barely see in this light, but I didn’t need to - I felt the wetness at the tip. God, he leaked so much, his breath hot and heavy against my cheek, watching me touch him. It made me crazy with want. He wasted no time, rucked my shorts down over my hips, let me drape a thigh over him as he pressed a still slick finger inside me again. I reached down and slid my own inside along with him. “ _Abbastanza_ ,” I rasped. “Want you _now_.”  

He didn’t argue, didn’t even bother to undress. He just pulled himself out and reached beneath both of my thighs, hoisting me up and pinning me to the wall with his hips. I was at his mercy like this, legs around his waist, his broad, beautiful chest radiating heat like a blue sun. I wrapped my arms around his neck, bringing our bodies even closer, seeking his mouth with my mouth. He cast a breath into my lungs, and I tightened my legs round him as he reached to help give me what I wanted. I could feel the blunt head wet with spit, sweat, and lube. I closed my eyes and focused on his inhale, his exhale, and the caress of his tongue as he pushed inside. There was the sweet, hot stretch of his cock where his fingers had, and hadn’t been, and had been again. It was an unspeakable pleasure, my mouth hanging useless and open as my whole body reeled and reckoned with the blissful invasion. 

A fermata, while Oliver held me there, let me adjust. Even in our roughest, most animal moments, he never denied me time, or kisses, or care. There was that sweetness that dusted every inch of him, softened every hard line. I loved when he let me see him, when his voice dropped from that deep, butch _cauboi_ timbre - all black ink and classrooms and cold indifference - into a sun-warmed melopoeia I might recognize as my own, had I not known my tongue any better. His was so often in my mouth, the difference mattered less and less.  

I fisted his shirt in one hand, buried the other in his hair and tightened it in a fist. His answering shiver made my smile feel like syrup in my mouth. I tucked my face into his shoulder as he rocked experimentally. The pace wasn’t near enough for both of us, and I head butted him as lovingly as I could muster in my impatience. “More.”

More, indeed. He moved inside me, his breath hot and harsh against my throat. My toes brushed the folds of winter linens that Mafalda would dress the tables with months down the line, when we made our yearly pilgrimage back. I could see it, see her ironing with the icy light petering in through the kitchen windows, and I could see Oliver, nestled in my bed with the duvet drawn up to his chin, the spot beside him still warm from me, waiting… 

He quickened his pace, and all the images were swept from my mind like I’d been slapped. I threw my arms around his neck again and held on, held him, held us together. His thrusts were sharp and shallow, gravity and the tightness of space limiting his movements, but it didn't much matter. I bit my lip in a feeble attempt to stifle my noises. I was hopeless - when he slipped his hand to the small of my back and pressed me to him, my core curled with pleasure so knife-hot, I whimpered. 

He suddenly froze, turned his head to the side. I kissed his damp temples in an effort to bring his attention back, and felt his nails dig into my thigh. Voices. In the room outside. 

I recognized Mafalda, at once. But there was another voice, a woman’s, not my mother’s, what sounded like a friend from town.Oliver wore alarm like one of those heavy coats, fear carved in every taut line, every muscle. My own heart was pounding, yes, but we were buried in a seasonal fare - there was no way Mafalda would come in here for summer linens. 

“Hey,” I murmured, gently scratching at his shoulders, my arms still draped around his neck. He shifted his weight as he looked back at me, hoisting me up on his hips a little more as he tried to find a position where we could hold still. The shift pushed a moan from my lips, like his cock had found the space my true voice hid. Oliver clapped a hand over my mouth, and one of my legs slipped slightly down his hip - I tightened it on instinct, clenching round him, and his shocked grunt of pleasure sent a jolt rippling down to my groin. 

I stuck out my tongue and pushed it between his fingers. I didn’t like being restrained or shushed. He had the nerve to pull a face, try to wipe my saliva across my cheek, and I let go of his neck with one arm to jab him in the ribs in retaliation. He gasped and almost dropped me, drove his hips upward to keep me still, yet unsuccessfully silent; he gripped me tighter, and pinned me with a wide eyed, don’t-you- _fucking_ -dare stare. 

I wanted to laugh. _You are no fun, Oliver._ Even flustered, panicked, he was still rock hard inside me. I swiped his hand away, watched his lips curve into a, “Shh,” and I licked over that delicious puckered shape before he could make a sound, swallowing it in a kiss. I took a breath and climbed him, pulling myself up so I was secure enough to lock my ankles behind the small of his back. Tight quarters, I squeezed his flanks with my knees; like I’d cast a charm, he relented, relaxing a bit and rolling his hips on instinct, unable to help himself. I rolled to meet him, finding a rhythm, fucking myself as much as he was fucking me - together we moved, and moved, and forgot about everything, until the slap of skin against skin became too much, too loud, too risky for him to take, and he dropped his head onto my shoulder with a tremulous sigh, slowing to a crawl. 

“Elioooooo,” he whispered, a plaintive, pleading note. 

I nuzzled his temple and slid my hand his nape, toyed with his hair. He hadn’t washed it since yesterday. God, it was so hot in here, my head was starting to swim. We were both red-faced, his t-shirt soaked with sweat. I gripped it, listened for the disgustingly satisfying squelch of fabric, but instead just caught the clack of Mafalda’s sandals. Borrowed time. It sounded like they were in the kitchen. We had to be careful. 

“Any ideas?” he breathed. 

“Figured we’d set up camp. No one’s supposed to open this til November.” 

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth was twitching. Pent up relief, maybe, laughter, or exasperation, or the beginning heat exhaustion. Anyone’s guess. He had me well balanced at this point up against the wall, and so I slid my hands under his shirt, curling my fingers in his chest hair. He hissed, rewarded me with a flick of his hips that drove his dick deeper inside me, until I was gasping and grasping for the last shreds of sanity. 

“Ohhhh fuck!” 

“Shh!”

“Hnn…s’hard…” 

“Try harder.” 

I glared when I caught a glimpse of that movie star smirk, and dug my fingers into his ribs again. He gasped and twisted, caught off guard, but he couldn’t move from where he was without too much noise. “You cheeky thing, I oughta leave you right here,” he spat, and oh, there, oh _bliss_ , there was that Oliver chuckle, and I was so happy, my scalp ached. 

But we couldn’t stay here much longer, boiling, cramped, and lust-drunk. I feared the imprint of us would be marked in the walls, the clothes, the carpet forever if we stayed even another sixty seconds. I kissed him again, squeezed my muscles consciously around his cock, and the ache inside was worth the shaky moan that he loosed into my mouth. I pinched his nipples beneath his shirt, flicked my thumbs over the tips, teasing them mercilessly. His answering moan was so soft and pretty, I whispered, “ _Good boy_ ,” just to watch him squirm. God, did he, red lipped and brow knit, grinding his hips in a circle that all but made me go cross-eyed. 

We were so lost in it, that we missed the footsteps. We missed the voices. But we did not miss the rattling doorknob.  

“ _Merda_!” I whispered, but Oliver reacted before I could take another breath. I barely had time to register the shock of being empty or my feet on the floor before he was yanking me behind the furthest long coat at the back of the closet with him, pulling me tight to his chest. I hid in him, my legs trembling, clinging to him to stay upright.  

It wasn’t Mafalda. It was her friend, come searching for the downstairs bathroom. I could hear their chatter back and forth, and caught the light from the hallway peeking in a crack. I had to cover my own mouth to hide the sound of my breathing, my whole body quivering. Oliver was still. Utterly still. He did not let me go. 

Then came Mafalda’s brassy, “ _No, no, l’altro!_ ” The door snicked shut again. More banter, the downstairs bathroom opening and closing. We waited. Waited. Almost a minute. Two. It could have been an hour, until we heard the sound of the running sink, more footsteps, then the French doors to outside open and shut, voices safely muffled behind glass and wood and chicken chatter. 

Oliver’s damp shirt stuck to my face as I peeled my cheek from his chest to look at him. He swiped his dry palm over my skin, and for all the nauseating terror we’d just shared, he looked exactly like that first night when the door had slammed and broken the heated spell our waiting had cast. The epitome of “ _whoops_!” with all the glee of a bank thief.  

We dissolved into silent giggles, filled with such mixed relief and heat-induced delirium that we nearly slid down the wall to the floor. His laugh was like a drug, infections and utterly irresistible, and I could not stop until my sides burned and I feared I might be sick. 

He quieted us both with a kiss, his long fingers coming up to gently collar my throat and trace my shoulders, drinking in his lingering smile against my mouth. I was aware of how naked I was against him, my shorts forgotten in the corner - God, if Mafalda had seen…

“We have _got_ to get out of here.”   

“I can’t walk like this.” 

“We better fix that, then.” There was an impish look in his face that made my heart leap. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the little bottle from earlier, and then he was kissing me again, coaxing me towards the opposite wall and out of our hiding place so we had a little more room to breathe. Within moments, he was running his newly slick hand up and down my cock and sucking the tip of my tongue until I was dizzy and reaching for him.  

It was as good an idea as any, I thought, just giving us each a quick pull-off so we could really finish later. _Later_. But then, he broke the kiss for a breath, and I saw him reaching behind himself.  

 _Oh_.  

It wouldn’t be the first time, not even the second. But still, I was dumbstruck for a whole minute, merely able to stroke up and down his chest as he bit his lip and moved his fingers inside himself. I wondered dimly if I should do that for him, if he wanted me to, but the words were garbled in four different languages that I couldn’t seem to sort out in neither head nor mouth.  

He moved at last to slip out of his suit completely, bare from the waist down, lifting his shirt up. His erection jutted straight out, pointing at me, all at once teasing and accusatory. 

He moved to switch our positions, and I found my tongue as he turned to the wall, his back to me. “Wait.” 

He paused, looked around. I knew he wouldn’t continue or make me do anything I didn’t want to. I licked my lips, leaned in, and kissed the nape of his neck. “You're louder.” 

He fixed me with a smile nothing short of wicked. “But quicker.” And he brought the bunched up hem of his shirt to his mouth, biting down. He knew what he was doing, what he wanted, and his want was my want, and whether it was his hand or mine that took my cock and pressed up against him was unclear, and irrelevant, and everything. 

The sound he made when I breached him was muffled, shocked, ecstatic. His forehead dropped forward against the wall with a dull thud. I ran my hand up his back, tracing the ridges of his spine as I gave him a few moments to recalibrate before I started the lazy push-pull of fucking, wrapping my arms around his waist. 

He was dripping from the heat, from the intensity of me inside him. His skin was salty against my lips. I could see, could feel the muscles in his jaw working as he bit down on that blue shirt between his teeth - he couldn’t hold back anything, every thrust inside him driving out some sweet noise that stoked the primal fire we’d built together. 

He hadn’t been wrong, he _was_ quick. What a shocking, delightful surprise it had been to discover how much he loved to be topped. It took barely a few minutes - at one point he arched his back and turned his head to look back at me, with an expression so tight with pleasure, it rivaled pain. 

“Oliver, Oliver, please, give it to me,” he puffed, his voice a grating whisper. I slid my right hand into his hair, my left on his hip to steady us as I gave it to him harder. His head lolled forward as he moved back against me, glassy-eyed and pink-cheeked and _gone_. My hands wandered around to his chest, teasing those sensitive buds he loved so much, whispering to him in every foreign tongue that danced in my mouth, his muscles fluttering and tightening as he neared the edge.  

I kissed up the graceful line of his back as he reached down to touch himself, his right hand flying over his cock, forehead braced on his forearm against the wall, a groan rising in his throat, mercifully muffled by the fabric stuffed again between his teeth. I dropped my name in his ear like a stone in the pond, and then suddenly he was bucking back against me, pulsing around my cock as he came. He almost knocked me off balance as he rocked and rocked and rocked through it, the muscles in his back flexing deliciously. His low, sobbing moan brought me with him, and I had not a second to pull out before I was gasping against his shoulder and clinging to him for balance, rocking up onto my toes in ecstasy, muscles clenching so hard, they burned.  

The two of us trembled, panting like we’d just surfaced from a dive. There wasn’t much time for a real afterglow. If we stayed there one more second, I might die. I slid shakily out of him, running my fingers along the cleft where I’d just been, the two of us some combination of smug and sore and sticky. 

He turned to me, took my chin in hand and kissed me, quiet, tender, terribly sweet. I wanted nothing but to hold him, to lay underneath him for hours and wrap all my limbs around him, even in this heat. He winked at me as we slid back into our suits, both of us sufficiently wobbly on our feet. He wrapped his now shed t-shirt around his messy hand, and creaked the door open a tad to peer outside.  

“Coast is clear,” he said, as I checked for evidence we might have left behind, finding (stunningly) none. I thought he might dash first, tell me to meet him upstairs, give us some time for reasonable doubt, but he took my hand in the one he had left to lead me, paused. “Hey,” he murmured, gesturing to the blushing bulb hanging like an eye on the ceiling, “don’t forget the light.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, my dears. If you enjoyed, leave a comment!! I am thereisalwaysroom over on tumblr. Come on by and say hi. :)
> 
> XOXO, L


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